LADYBIRD

You are strolling across my windscreen. Bits of greenfly, your inferiors, are scattered and strewn, mangled split ends of legs, rolled carpets of paper-thin wing: an obstacle course for you to manoeuvre. You step around, a lady. Won’t dirty your insect feet. I am watching, observing, counting spots from glimpses beneath; one two three four five six. My breath documents your pattern in fog on the glass. two three four five six. I flick the windscreen wiper with one finger. Watch you catch the arm, ride it like the Scrambler, wind in your wings. And then you slip. You spread like a knob of butter with black bits in; burnt toast. Your spots detach and speckle my screen. You are a popped plum tomato. He watches too and asks: what did you do that for? You bleed yellow. I am playing god. I didn’t mean to. Don’t make me feel bad. I wonder which something-bigger is flicking the wiper over me. I pull the lever and you are swept away in bright blue suds.
It wasn’t doing any harm, he says. I know.

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Beth Brown, 26, Leeds - England ✯ IG: @girlonpause

“Beth Brown is currently studying for an MA in Creative Writing at the University of Manchester. Prior to this, she received her Diploma in Creative Writing at the University of Cambridge. Off the page, she can usually be found roaming the aisles of bookshops, people watching in coffee shops, or daydreaming about moving to Paris.”